


skin deep

by lectose



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Genderswap, Oral Sex, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lectose/pseuds/lectose
Summary: "What do you want from me, Miya?""Well, I really do want to hear you say that I'm the best setter you've ever had. But I'll settle for being invited to your apartment instead."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 204





	skin deep

Miya sidles up to Kiyoomi after practice one day right as she's folding her towel into a neat square, preparing to pack up and leave for the day. 

They're the last ones left today, Kiyoomi because of her extensive hygeine routine, and Miya, simply because she had been loitering. It's uncharacteristic for her to remain so long, usually getting swept along by Bokuto and Hinata as they rush to the latest restaurant they've heard about from Miya’s twin. Kiyoomi did not attempt to make conversation. Rather, she prefers the silence.

So when Miya comes far too close, right into Kiyoomi's personal space, grinning far too wildly to be anything but obnoxious, Kiyoomi keeps her mouth firmly shut and hopes that Miya will do the same. But of course, Miya lives to disappoint. 

"So, Omi-Omi, what'd you think of my sets today?"

How inane. Kiyoomi hates small talk and she knows Miya does too, unless it's with Hinata or for the purpose of riling up her unfortunate target of amusement. Kiyoomi ignores her, in some vain hope that Miya would go away if Kiyoomi pretends she didn't hear anything. But Miya is too close for Kiyoomi to feign deafness, and not nearly considerate enough to take the hint gracefully.

"I was really in top form today! Shou-chan said she really loved them. Were they good enough for you, hmm?"

Kiyoomi gives up trying to ignore Miya. It's clear that she'll keep running her mouth, whether or not Kiyoomi responds. The inherently uncomfortable nature of keeping up a one-sided conversation is doing nothing to dissuade her. Usually, people would stop trying to strike up conversation with someone so clearly disinterested, but Miya Atsumu is not "people". You would have to possess some sort of shame or self-awareness to feel uncomfortable with the way this conversation has been going, but naturally, Miya lacks both. 

Without turning, Kiyoomi responds as curtly as possible, "you know how I like my sets."

She tucks her folded towel into her bag, in a side pocket specifically for that purpose. From Kiyoomi's periphery, she sees Miya's grin, without reason, become even wider. She looks more self-satisfied by the second. Kiyoomi never should have to deigned to acknowledge her. "Of course I do, but I just wanted to hear it from you. 'Oh, Atsumu, you were fantastic today! Atsumu, you're the best setter I've ever played with! Atsumu, I'm so glad you're here to set for me!'" Her voice climbs in octaves as she speaks, reaching a falsetto.

Kiyoomi blinks slowly and does not respond, reaching across the bench for her tube of disinfectant wipes instead. Her expression remains hidden behind the surgical mask that went on the moment she stepped for the court, but even with the mask on, her disinterest should have been apparent enough. Miya, horrifyingly enough, remains unperturbed and blathers on. "You know, you're always so silent during practices. How am I to know if I'm really giving you the best tosses?"

Kiyoomi sighs. She slings her bag over her shoulder, and turns towards the door, preparing to abandon her unwanted conversation partner. "What do you want from me, Miya?"

"Well, I really do want to hear you say that I'm the best setter you've ever had. But I'll settle for being invited to your apartment instead." Miya goes for a winning smile and shows far too many teeth. She more closely resembles a shark than the harmless, girl-next-door expression that she had likely aimed for.

"What makes you think I'd want you within two meters of me," Kiyoomi bites out, "let alone in my apartment." It's not a question, but Miya answers her anyways.

"Oh, come on, you're standing within two meters of me right now. And don't say it's because I didn't give you a choice, you're the one who hasn't moved in the past minute!" Miya's voice is airy but her eyes are sharp. Analytical. Watching for any cracks in Kiyoomi's composure. Unfortunately for her, there are none to capitalize on. Kiyoomi barely reacts, not even to nervously swallow like an ordinary person might have when confronted with your sometimes-nemesis, sometimes-teammate, constant thorn-in-your-side asking to go home with you. 

When Kiyoomi remains silent, Miya continues blithely. "Don't tell me you haven't considered it. We both have eyes. I never took you as the type to lie to yourself."

Miya's right on all three counts. Kiyoomi doesn't bother lying to herself. She's aware that Miya is objectively attractive, with her model-length legs and toned abs that she spends far more time working on maintaining than she would ever admit in interviews. She's far more appealing to Kiyoomi in the way that she bares her teeth on the court than when girls giggle and blush when she passes them by. 

“This would change nothing." Kiyoomi puts on disposable nitrile gloves as she speaks. The nitrile glides over her hands, and makes sharp cracks as she pulls them up to her wrists before releasing the material.

"Of course, Omi-Omi," Miya dares to look offended. "What do you take me for, some sort of amateur? Maybe it was different for you back in college, but in the League we know not to let our personal lives affect the game."

A bald-faced lie. Everyone remembers the debacle where Kageyama had served a ball straight into the back of Ushijima’s head, the timing of it too close to when the selfie posted by Oikawa from the Argentinian leagues had went viral to have been a coincidence.

Kiyoomi stares at her for several seconds before jerking her head in the direction of the door. She doesn't have to look behind her as she walks out of the locker room to know that Miya is following behind her. As they exit the building, Miya falls into step parallel to Kiyoomi, but at just enough of a distance that Kiyoomi can't snap at her to watch her personal space. 

Kiyoomi lives about a ten minute walk from the gym. It had been expensive to find an apartment in the city center, but the idea of getting packed along with all the other people on the subway during rush hour was appalling and she hated the requirements of maintaining a car. Miya, blessedly, remained silent throughout the length of their walk and the elevator ride up to Kiyoomi's floor.

The elevator makes a quiet ding as it reaches its destination. Looking around as Kiyoomi withdraws her keys from yet another dedicated pocket, Miya snarks, "Wouldn't have taken you for an avante-garde fan, Omi-Omi. You seem much more like the Brutalist type to me."

"Do you even know what the words coming out of your mouth mean." 

Whatever reaction Miya wants to get out of her, Kiyoomi would rather not play her game. But seeing the smirk that blossoms on Miya's face as soon as she gets her words out, Kiyoomi realizes that Miya managed to incite a response, which might have just been all she wanted. Kiyoomi decides to ignore the expression and crosses the threshold of her door. 

Toeing her shoes off and stepping into heathens, she turns around to look at Miya, who has made no move to follow. "Aren't you going to invite me in," Miya asks.

"What are you, a vampire?" Kiyoomi is beginning to regret her decision. The welcome silence that had accompanied them during the walk back to her apartment had been broken, and Miya was as insufferable as ever. Seeing the furrow of Kiyoomi's brow, Miya lets out a soft snort and hurries in, removing her shoes as well. 

"Nice place," she remarks, peering around as Kiyoomi strips off her gloves and tosses them into the trash. The apartment really does suit Kiyoomi. Minimalist with the exception of some conditioning gear, and in a corner, a sleek bar cart equipped with cleaning supplies on one rack and sports tape on the second rather than alcohol. Light floods in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, contrasting with Kiyoomi's own dark and sullen demeanor.

Miya is still standing in the entryway, much more considerately of her than expected. "Go shower," Kiyoomi commands, tossing a fresh towel to Miya from a cabinet. "Use your own soap and wipe down the basin when you're done."

They're both freshly showered from practice, but Miya makes no argument or complaint. She fishes her toiletries out of her own gym bag and makes her way to Kiyoomi's bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Kiyoomi washes her hands in her kitchen sink and rinses her mouth with Listerine, one of the three bottles she has placed throughout the apartment. She makes her way to her bedroom, making sure the windows are tightly shut and the blinds are fully down. Once satisfied, she starts removing her outermost layers. 

She wears her jacket zipped all the way up to her chin to lessen her exposure to the outside world. This comes in handy now, as she hardly wants to change into a whole new set of clothes if she's going to shed them shortly enough. The jacket gets folded and tucked into the laundry hamper situated opposite to her closet. The pants follow, and Kiyoomi steps into a pair of athletic shorts in the meantime. She lays a fresh sheet over her current ones and tucks in tightly under the mattress, making for an easier cleanup if nothing else. 

The water from the bathroom shuts off soon after she's laid herself out on the bed, legs stretched out and feet touching, hands folded neatly over her chest. She stares up at the ceiling for a moment and decides to close her eyes.

"Ha, Omi-Omi, you look even more like a corpse laying there like that." Miya's words are casual but her tone is oddly flat. Kiyoomi opens her eyes to look at Miya. She's wrapped in the towel Kiyoomi gave her, hair pulled messily up into a bun. Her bangs are damp, making them look flatter than usual. Her eyes are bright as they slowly make their way up the long length of Kiyoomi's legs, her body, before finally reaching her face.

"Are you going to stand there all day? I thought you would be a bit more useful than this."

Miya laughs but remains rooted at the door. "Impatient, are we?" 

The irritation simmering in Kiyoomi ever since Miya first opened her mouth in the locker room grows. She swings her feet off the bed and approaches Miya where she's standing. Miya is shorter than Kiyoomi, but Kiyoomi stretches to her full height instead of slouching anyways, relishing the fact that she can tower over Miya, who isn’t exactly average height either. 

“Must I do everything myself?”

Miya huffs out a soft laugh. “Just making sure you weren’t going to back out at the last minute.”

One of Miya’s hands reaches up to rest behind Kiyoomi’s neck and Miya leans up, pressing her lips against Kiyoomi’s own. It's oddly chaste, up until Kiyoomi draws back before going in for another much more dynamic than the previous one and Miya matches the pace, her second hand gripping at Kiyoomi’s waist. Now, she's just as aggressive as Kiyoomi expected, and Kiyoomi can't find it in herself to disapprove. The kiss is messy, with tongue and teeth, and a swipe of Miya's tongue against her lips brings a rush of heat to her body. 

Without breaking their kiss, Miya pushes Kiyoomi backwards, and Kiyoomi lets her, back colliding against the wall. Miya's good with her tongue, Kiyoomi will give her that. Her clever flicks and swirls increase Kiyoomi's heady feeling and her breathing becomes a bit more uneven with each second.

Without warning, Miya breaks the kiss and latches onto Kiyoomi's neck instead. The sudden contact makes Kiyoomi inhale sharply, sending a shiver through her as Miya nibbles and sucks her way along the column of Kiyoomi's throat, from mid-neck down towards her clavicle. Kiyoomi's reaches to card through Miya's hair, searching for the hair tie and making short work of it, releasing her hair. It’s softer than expected for how often Miya dyes it. She moans slightly when Kiyoomi gives it a sharp tug, but doesn't pause from her work on Kiyoomi's neck.

"Maybe I was right about your vampiric tendencies," Kiyoomi muses as Miya's hand comes up to cup one of Kiyoomi's breasts and squeeze. She's not complaining too much though, and gives Miya's hair another tug instead.

A sharp inhale, and Miya slides her knee between Kiyoomi's thighs, forcing her to spread them. Kiyoomi can take a hint. She rolls her hips, following the motion through with her body pressed against Miya's. 

From there, they manage to stumble onto Kiyoomi's bed. Kiyoomi’s abandoned her shirt and bra, heedless for once where they’ve landed. Miya loses the towel along the way and she stretches out to display herself, utterly shameless. She's whipcord muscle and lean everywhere, barely a sign of extraneous fat. For all her ego problems and personality issues, she's an athlete through and through. It's with that thought that Kiyoomi drops herself roughly on top of Miya, legs bracketing Miya's hips.

“Appreciating the view?”

Even now, Miya’s as smug as usual. Kiyoomi’s overcome with the urge to wipe the smug expression off her face and leans down to kiss her again. 

This time, Kiyoomi controls the flow of the kiss, tugging at Miya's lower lip before soothing it with a slide of tongue, coaxing as many little, unintentional sounds from Miya as she can. As she pulls away, she savors the dazed look that Miya blinks at her with as her chest heaves with every breath. 

For a second, Kiyoomi just stares down at Miya, breathes in as heat coils in her stomach. She can feel the clench and release of Miya's muscles under her, and is struck by an impulse. Kiyoomi shifts her weight, trailing an arm up Miya's torso, stopping to pinch a nipple on the way up. This earns her a shocked, choked-back moan, and she decides that out of all the sounds she's heard come out of Miya's mouth, this is one of the most tolerable.

She repositions herself to better access Miya's neck, sucking dark hickeys into the skin there, continuing to play with Miya's nipples while she's at it. Miya's nails bite into Kiyoomi's back, sharp even through her remaining layer of dri-fit.

It's when she finally gasps, "stop, Omi, stop," that Kiyoomi sits back to observe her handiwork. Miya is more disheveled than Kiyoomi's ever seen her, even five sets into a game. She recovers her focus admirably though, rolling them over so she’s situated on top of Kiyoomi and latches herself onto Kiyoomi’s neck with renewed vigor.

Her mouth is hot and wet and she skims a hand down the side of Kiyoomi’s body, reaching down between them for the waistband of Kiyoomi’s shorts and dipping inside to rub Kiyoomi through her underwear.

“Ooh, is that all for me? You’re so wet, I can feel it even through your panties.” She lifts her chin to smile irritatingly at Kiyoomi.

“Stop with your terrible dirty talk, Miya. I didn’t invite you hear for you to reenact bad porn.” Kiyoomi snaps, caustic even as Miya applies pressure on her clit that has her hips stuttering forward for more.

“At least call me Atsumu, I don’t need to wonder if you’re thinking about my twin in bed.” Miya hooks her fingers inside of Kiyoomi’s underwear to slide a finger inside of her, easily pushing inside.

“Never knew you had such an inferiority complex, Miya—”

Miya has the audacity to withdraw her hand. “We’re stopping right here unless you call me by my name.” Nonetheless, she dips down to swirl her tongue around one of Kiyoomi’s nipples, plucking at the other one with her other hand.

“Fuck, Miya—,” Kiyoomi grits her teeth to keep herself from gasping as Atsumu does something particularly good, sending sparks down her spine. “Atsumu—”

“There we go, now that wasn’t that hard was it?” Atsumu pulls back to beam at her, altogether too fox-like and self-satisfied. “Now lift your hips up for me, I wanna eat you out.”

Kiyoomi blinks but obliges, lifting her hips so Atsumu can slide off her shorts and underwear in one go. Atsumu coaxes Kiyoomi’s legs apart and settles between them. She dives back in to give Kiyoomi a truly _filthy_ kiss, one that has her rolling her hips against Atsumu’s, before slowly kissing her way down Kiyoomi’s stomach.

“The things I’ve wanted to do ever since I saw those abs,” she murmurs against them. Making eye contact now, she continues, “Wanted to lick them since day one.”

Kiyoomi snorts. “Don’t hold back on my account. Never took you for the considerate type.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m not.”

Atsumu’s eyes gleam and she dips her head to exhale a hot breath against Kiyoomi’s abdomen. She drags her lips along the planes of Kiyoomi’s abs. It was hotter than it had any right to be, the slide of tongue creating an odd but not entirely unpleasant feeling. She takes her time before finally getting her mouth on Kiyoomi properly.

“Fuck!” Kiyoomi inhales sharply, letting her eyes slip closed as Atsumu tongue slides over her clit, hot and wet. Her toes curl, and one of her hands makes its way to tangle in Atsumu’s hair at the same time that she bites down hard on her lip to keep any noises from escaping her.

Kiyoomi feels rather than sees Atsumu slip two fingers inside her and crooks them at just the spot that makes her world explode into stars.

“Come on baby, I wanna hear ya,” Atsumu pauses both her fingers and her mouth. There’s no reason for her to look so hot, hair tangled from Sakusa’s tugging and lips swollen and shining.

“Not your baby,” Kiyoomi manages to grit out. “Don’t stop.” She tugs at Atsumu’s hair for good measure, not failing to notice how Atsumu’s gaze turns a bit glassy at the action.

Apparently Atsumu’s appeased enough to duck her head back down and suck a hickey into Kiyoomi’s thigh, making her squirm.

“Come— on—” Kiyoomi punctuates her words with a tug on Atsumu’s hair each time, and finally, she obliges.

For all her faults, Atsumu’s always had a clever mouth. In more ways than one, Kiyoomi is finding out. Atsumu makes excellent use of her mouth now, sucking on Kiyoomi’s clit at the same time as she thrusts two fingers, then three into Kiyoomi. It’s an awkward angle, but she maintains a rhythm between her tongue and fingers that has Kiyoomi clenching her hands hard into the sheets as she struggles to keep her thighs from quivering, breath loud in the small room.

Pleasure bursts its way up along her spine. “Fuck—Atsumu,” she pants out, heat blazing inside her body, wildfire sparking into an inferno. She throws her head as far back as the pillows allow, back forming a bow her orgasm hits her, rolling like thunder through her entire body, a long and high moan clawing its way out of her throat.

Atsumu is merciless, keeping up the pace the entire time through Kiyoomi’s orgasm and just when she thinks she is done, Atsumu manages some particular twist of her fingers that has Kiyoomi shaking. Overstimulated, Kiyoomi lets a ragged breath escape her as she rides out the waves of her second orgasm.

Kiyoomi lets her body utterly sink into the mattress, heart pounding against her chest. She still has the presence of mind to yank Atsumu up though, lets her slip her tongue into Kiyoomi’s mouth in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. She can taste herself on Atsumu’s tongue but can’t bring herself to care.

They stay like that, licking into each other’s mouths, until Kiyoomi shifts, suddenly cognizant of the cooling sweat on her body. She dislodges Atsumu by rolling over until Atsumu’s the one flat on her back, blinking up at Kiyoomi.

“Everything you’ve ever dreamed of? It looked like your brain melted out of your ears during that second one.” Atsumu’s incorrigible. Kiyoomi finds that right now, she’ll let the comment slide.

She climbs up over Atsumu, legs bracketing her hips to leans over Atsumu and pull open the bedside drawer. Atsumu tries to turn her head but doesn’t quite manage to catch the contents of the drawer before Kiyoomi withdraws her hand with the item she had been searching for.

Atsumu’s eyes widen at what Kiyoomi is holding in her hand.

“Omi-Omi, you didn’t tell me about a strap-on!” From the look in her eyes, she’s not displeased by this turn of events, but quite the opposite.

“You didn’t ask,” Kiyoomi shoots back, recovered enough to regain the snide edge to her voice.

“Now, lay back and look pretty. I’ll return the favor, and then some.”

* * *

It’s a good thing Kiyoomi avoids interacting with her neighbors. She’d never be able to look them in the eye after all of Atsumu's screaming that night.

**Author's Note:**

> had to hammer this out just bc the brainworm hit so hard


End file.
